


And If the Night Comes (And the Night Will Come)

by anthologia



Series: At Least the War is Over [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Damian doesn't care how dare you insinuate otherwise, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthologia/pseuds/anthologia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Grayson.” Damian crosses his arms, staring so intently that he’s practically glaring. “I require your assistance.”</p><p>Dick saves the work he was doing on the Batcomputer and stretches out, a few joints popping in protest of how long he was sitting still. “What’s up, Little D?”</p><p>“Drake is… confusing me. You need to return him to his room where he can’t engage in disturbing behaviors in my presence.”</p><p>(Set in a universe where Bruce really did die instead of getting lost in time. Semi-sequel to "Lights Will Guide You Home".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If the Night Comes (And the Night Will Come)

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a sequel to "Lights Will Guide You Home" in Scraps and Scribbles. in that it takes place in the same "what if Bruce really did die and Tim was just in denial?" universe. It's also partly an attempt at playing the "Batfam member finds Tim sleeping in a weird place" scene as serious instead of funny.
> 
> Title from "In Our Bedroom After the War" by Stars.

“Grayson.” Damian crosses his arms, staring so intently that he’s practically glaring. “I require your assistance.”

Dick saves the work he was doing on the Batcomputer and stretches out, a few joints popping in protest of how long he was sitting still. “What’s up, Little D?”

“Drake is… confusing me. You need to return him to his room where he can’t engage in disturbing behaviors in my presence.”

Well. It’s definitely an improvement on ‘Drake is irritating me, so I tried to stab him’. Dick raises an eyebrow. “What did he do?”

Instead of answering, Damian turns on his heel and stalks up the stairs towards the Manor. Dick gives a mental shrug and follows.

Their trip ends in the library, where there’s a vaguely Tim-shaped pile of books and armchair pillows and a throw rug on the floor. Dick has to bite back a smile because he can’t remember the last time he found Tim like this. It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed. “It’s okay, Little D, Tim just forgets to go to bed sometimes, so when he crashes, he’ll grab the stuff around him and turn it into a makeshift bed. We usually just move him if we find him.”

Something in Damian’s expression eases, looking… guardedly hopeful? That’s a new one on him. “He does this even when he is not asleep?”

What?

Dick approaches the Tim-nest-pile and carefully deconstructs just enough that he can see Tim’s face. He’s not sleeping like Dick expected; he’s clutching one of the pillows to his chest and staring dully at nothing in particular.

“Tim?” Dick pats his arm gently, trying to get his little brother’s attention. Tim’s eyes flick upwards briefly. “What’s going on? You’re worrying Little D.”

“Tt. I’m not _worried_ ,” Damian announces with a scoff.

When Tim doesn’t say anything, Dick tries again, careful to keep his voice calm and gentle. “Are you feeling sick? Did you get hurt on patrol or something?”

Tim shakes his head, the movement so miniscule that Dick would’ve missed it if he wasn’t looking so closely for any sign of a response.

“Can you... talk to me? Is there something wrong with your voice?”

Another barely-there shake of his head.

“You see?” Damian says. “He is acting… defective. You need to fix him.”

Tim doesn’t – he doesn’t _react_ , exactly, but his fingers clench around the pillow a little tighter and there’s a wetness in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“He doesn’t mean it like that, Tim,” Dick says softly. “He’s worried. He thinks you’re hurt, but he doesn’t know in what way, and he doesn’t know how to express it.”

“I am _not_ worried, Grayson – “

“If that was true, Dami, you would have left Tim here instead of coming to get me,” Dick points out without taking his eyes off of Tim. “Could you go find Alfred, please? Ask him when he last spoke to Tim.” Damian huffs, clearly aware that it’s mostly a busywork request intended to get him to leave the room, but he follows it, muttering something about Pennyworth being much better company, anyway.

Dick presses his hand against Tim’s forehead – no fever – before brushing some of Tim’s hair away from his face. “I bet you’re not that comfortable here,” Dick says. “Let’s get you moved to your bed, okay?”

Tim doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to object, either. Actually, he doesn’t seem to care at all when Dick starts digging him out of his pile. His muscles are slack and apathetic, willing to go along with however Dick arranges him. He gets his arms under Tim’s back and knees and lifts, and normally this is where Tim would start complaining that he’s perfectly capable of walking on his own, but right now, all he does is tip his head over so it rests against Dick’s chest.

The walk to Tim’s room feels longer than it should. Dick keeps glancing down, checking on Tim, but there’s no change. When Dick sets him down on the mattress, he curls inwards a little but otherwise stays where he’s put.

He’s seen Tim like this before, but not since just after Jack died.

Dick pulls the covers over his little brother before kneeling down next to the bed so that he’s at eye-level with Tim. “Is that better?”

Tim’s not looking at him anymore, though, his gaze dropped down to his pillow. Dick reaches forward and tilts his head up until Dick’s in his line of sight again. “Can you say something for me, please? Anything you want. Just… _something_.”

It’s been quiet for so long that Dick’s basically given up when Tim finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “Something.”

Dick’s thoughts blank out for a second before the word slots into place, and he huffs out a laugh. “I see your ability to take the wrong things way too literally is still intact.”

Tim answers him with a fleeting ghost of a smile, and Dick squeezes his shoulder. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Tim’s eyes go far away for a minute, like he’s thinking, before he gives another tiny shake of his head.

“Not now, huh?” Tim could have meant he was refusing to talk to Dick, but something about the way he looked – Dick’s seen it in his eyes before, when he’s hurt and goes inside himself for a little while to assess what he’s physically capable of. Dick reaches out and rests his hand on Tim’s arm. “That’s okay. What do you want to do for now?"

It takes Tim a long time to answer, but Dick expects it this time. He waits patiently, rubbing Tim’s arm lightly until he’s ready to talk. “Stay?” he says, too quiet and strained like it takes enormous effort to force the word out.

“Yeah, sure, I can stay with you. Why don’t I get comfortable first?” Dick kicks off his shoes and crawls under the covers next to Tim. Tim re-orients himself so he’s facing the opposite direction, and Dick takes the wordless invitation to slot himself in against Tim’s back and wrap his arms around his little brother.

Someone steps into the doorway, quiet. Dick tilts his head until he can see Damian, who’s standing still, watching them uncertainly. Dick lifts a finger to his lips and gives him the field signal for injury. Damian mouths _Pennyworth?_ , but Dick shakes his head. For now, Dick gets the feeling Tim won’t want to deal with a lot of people, and Dick can monitor Tim himself. Damian frowns at them for a moment before he turns and leaves.

And returns a minute later carrying something black and fluffy – a toy dog, one of the stuffed animals Dick had basically demanded he pick out at a toy store on a shopping excursion once. He drops it on the bed next to Tim, announces “I have no use for this, Drake,” and then stomps away before anyone can say anything.

After a stunned silence, Tim gets out, “Did… he…?”

“Mm-hmm.” Dick grabs the dog and tucks it up against Tim’s chest. “I’m pretty sure he just declared undying love, but I’m still calibrating my Damian translator.”

Tim’s shoulders shake very slightly, like he’s laughing, and the knot of worry in Dick’s chest loosens very slightly. Until Tim’s breath catches, and he realizes that Tim _really_ isn’t laughing.

He half-sits up so he can see Tim better. “Woah, hey, what’s going on?”

“S-sorry,” Tim gasps out. It’s not just his shoulders shaking, now. His whole body has a shudder to it. “Shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“ _Damian_.” Tim clutches at one of the dog’s paws tightly before he tries talking again, but it’s hard to make out the words Tim’s saying. They’re too quiet and too indistinct, broken up by hitching sobs, and it takes a moment for Dick to put them together into an actual sentence.

_Damian shouldn’t love me because I couldn’t bring Bruce back._

“Oh, Tim, _no_. That’s not how this works. Any of it. You don’t… Love isn’t based on doing things for someone. And Bruce wasn’t – “ He has to stop talking and just _breathe_ for a moment, because his dad’s dead and he has one little brother who’s only just starting to learn how to connect with other people on a normal, non-violent level and the other is falling apart literally in his arms, and there’s nothing he can do about any of those facts right now but hold on and keep going. “There was nothing you could do. He died, and it – it _hurts_ but that’s what happened.” Another deep breath. “There was nothing you could do.”

He can’t think of anything else to say after that, so he just waits for Tim to calm down a little. It takes a while, but that’s okay. Dick’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, Tim’s breathing evens out, gets smoother and less desperate-sounding. He even manages to whisper out “Sorry.”

Dick sighs. “Don’t be. Just…” He has no idea what he can actually suggest that would make this better, so he goes with what’s least likely to make this worst. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep now, okay?” Tim doesn’t answer verbally, but he relaxes a little and goes slack in Dick’s hold, and Dick presses a kiss to the back of his head. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested in my fics and want more, I have an account at syntactition.tumblr.com where I have bits of stories that are currently in the works and other ficlets and stories that haven't made their way to AO3.


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